Up in Flames
by Nalina
Summary: Inspired by a small bit of dialog from Inferno.


Up in Flames

Note: _A short piece of fluff nonsense (that sparked my writing bug and led to writing the other fic I posted. lmao) based on a short exchange of dialog from the sort of but not really "lost," Episode 22: Inferno. References the episode very minorly, but here is a spoiler warning just in case. :) Many thanks again to ScribeOfRed for the proof reading. 3_

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Virg?"

Maybe he should have taken the fact that it had been Gordon who'd said it as some kind of omen.

It had been a refreshingly quiet day, so Virgil had decided to work on a little project he'd had on his mind for quite awhile. The old barbecue had seen better days. Their dad had always had an odd fondness for its retro style and, admittedly, Virgil had grown rather fond of it too, until it had started having issues.

Only one side was working correctly. The other? Not so much. The uneven heating was wreaking havoc on Virgil's barbecuing. It needed taking apart and probably cleaning, but he hadn't had a chance until today. In the meantime, the repair project had slowly become an upgrade project, as some ideas to not just fix but improve it had blossomed in his head.

Too often dinner preparations were interrupted, and on barbecue nights, it was usually before he'd barely gotten anything onto the grill. His upgrade would get the barbecue heated up almost instantly. Anything to get food cooked sooner and into their stomachs would be a good thing.

Tightening down the last tube and doing one more check of his work, Virgil glanced up at Gordon, who had been watching him work with unusual trepidation. Alan stood beside him, looking not nearly so worried. "Usually I'm the one asking that," Virgil responded, rather amused as he rose and lifted the barbecue lid, checking the interior one last time as well.

"Yeah, well, someone has to," Gordon said, still appearing to not like this. "Maybe you should get Brains to check it over or something?"

Virgil closed the lid, looking over at his brother, now a little exasperated—a state he all too often seemed to be in around Gordon. "I know what I'm doing, Gordo."

"Yeah!" Alan chimed in, looking excited now. "This is going to be great!"

"Yeah, but... Hey, if you blow up Dad's barbecue, I hope wherever he is, he'll know I told you it was a bad idea."

Ah, so that's what some of this was about—Dad.

Settling a hand on Gordon's shoulder, Virgil gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm sure he'll forgive me if I do," he told Gordon, hoping he was right about that. Anyways, Virgil hadn't done anything that couldn't be undone. It would be fine.

"Alright, stand back, I'm gonna fire it up," he announced, grinning as he heard Alan let out a whoop.

One press of a button was all it should have taken, but when he pressed the large, red button—nothing.

"Uhhhh... That was meant to do something, right?" came an unhelpful critique from a good several yards behind him.

"That's weird," Virgil muttered, reaching to lift the lid.

The moment he'd begun to lift the lid, it had struck him what a bad idea it likely was without cutting the gas first, but it had been far too late a thought. The whoosh of heat made him stumble backwards with a loud cry as a great pillar of fire exploded upwards.

Losing footing, he'd landed on his rear, arms crossed over his face, having thrown them up without thought. Crap. He could hear his brothers reacting loudly behind him.

Peeking out from behind his arms, the column of flames was still soaring up into the air and increasing by the second. He could feel the rising heat from where he sat.

"I've got this!"

Alan appeared in his sight with one of the many kitchen extinguishers and began emptying it onto the fire to no avail. The flames only grew higher. There was no chance of putting it out unless the gas was shut off.

"The tank valve—!" Virgil exclaimed, intending to get up and try to reach it himself.

"On it!"

Gordon flew past him and the fire quickly went out once he'd twisted the tank closed—thank goodness. With a groan, Virgil hid his face behind his hands as realization dawned: he was never going to hear the end of this.

"Virgil!"

He had expected it to be Gordon or Alan when he'd realized someone had squatted down in front of him. Where the heck had Scott come from?

"Virgil? Virg? Hey, let me see," Scott coaxed softly, hands on his wrists, trying to gently pull them away. With a worried big brother hovering over him, Virgil lowered his hands to face the embarrassing music.

"I'm okay, Scott," Virgil said, trying to reassure his big brother. He was pretty sure he was okay, anyways. "Except my pride," he added in a mutter.

Of course that wasn't enough for Scott. A hand lightly cupped his chin as Scott urged him to look up more so he could more closely examine Virgil's face. Scott's concerned expression slowly ebbed away as he reassured himself Virgil really was okay. It was another look on his brother's face, Virgil hadn't expected and wasn't even sure what to make of.

"Scott…?"

"Let's put some of the burn gel on anyways, just to be sure," Scott replied, seemingly to avoid explaining the sudden change in his expression. It had looked like sympathy? Definitely sympathy.

Alan appeared that moment, handing Scott the first aid box. Scott wasted no time pulling out the tube of gel that would quickly cool and repair any damage the heat had caused. Of course, then Alan's eyes fell on Virgil and they widened in surprise. Then there was an awkward, muffled laugh that Virgil didn't like the sound of.

"Oh wow, Virg… Gordon was right."

"It's not very often I get to say 'I told you so,'" Gordon chimed in, now appearing in Virgil's range of sight, as Scott dabbed the gel over his nose, cheeks and brow. He didn't like the grin that was forming on Gordon's face. "And now I'm going to have a reminder to tell you for, oh, the next month at least."

"Okay, I give. What is it?" He was already tired of this.

Scott had that sympathetic look on his face again, despite that he was now examining Virgil's arms.

"Oh man, who wants to tell him?" came from Alan.

"We could get him a mirror?" Gordon suggested.

"That's enough, you two," Scott cut the two younger off before he could ask what Gordon meant. Again came sympathy, this time in the form of a smile. "Sorry, Virgil… Uh… You mean you haven't noticed the smell of burnt hair?"

"Burnt hair…?" Virgil felt like he'd just turned sheet white as realization struck at just what the awful smell in his nose was. He'd expected a burning smell, given what happened, but Scott was right. It was hair and there was only one person who could have burnt hair right now.

"Oh no…" he groaned. As if he wasn't embarrassed enough as it was right now. "How bad, Scott?" Virgil directed the question to the only one he trusted right now to not rub salt into the wound.

The question earned him a more cheerful and reassuring smile from his big brother. "Easy, Virgil. I've seen worse—way worse."

Scott had been right. When he'd finally been brave enough to peer into a mirror, he'd been relieved to find it wasn't too bad. Only a few hairs across the front of his quiffed bangs had gone frizzy from the heat.

It was his eyebrows that were the worst off. Hairs curled every which way from being singed, then broke off, leaving in spots not much more than stubble. They were patchy, embarrassing messes that would serve to remind him and everyone else of the incident for many weeks to come. Great.

XXXXXXXX

One week passed, and already Virgil had become pretty fed up with being asked about his eyebrows. His standard answer had quickly become, 'Don't ask.' At least Gordon had realized it was best to give it a rest. It had been a good thing, because Virgil had been almost ready to leave him to swim home if he said a word about it again.

A special delivery for Lady Penelope had been the next time he'd found himself fixed with concerned eyes.

"Oh, Virgil! Why, whatever happened? Are you alright?"

He sighed, giving her a weak smile, appreciating it was concern for his well being she was showing instead of the usual curiosity he received. "Yeah, I'm alright. Just a little accident."

Relieved, she returned the smile. "And a little bad luck, I see."

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it."

Virgil then found himself being closely studied. A decision seemed to be suddenly made as Penelope sidled up to him and took hold of his arm. "You know, I do believe I owe you more than a few favours."

"Favours?" he echoed, suddenly confused as he was being guided from the entrance of Creighton-Ward Manor and into Penelope's parlour.

"Yes, favours," she responded, not elaborating. Instead she led him to one of her chaises. "Sit. I'm sure Scott can spare you for a little while. This won't take too long, I promise," Lady Penelope told him, before leaving the room with another promise to have Parker make some tea.

Confused and now feeling a little bit nervous, he sat in that rather pink-ish room with only Sherbet for company, until Penelope returned with a fancy-looking container. He watched her sit down beside him, looting around in it for a minute before withdrawing what appeared to be some sort of pencil?

Oh. Wait. He knew what that was.

"Here we are. This should do the trick."

As she scooted closer to him, the look on his face must have looked anxious, because she paused to give him another of those reassuring smiles she was so good at.

"It's alright, Virgil," she soothed. "Trust me?"

Virgil did his best to relax, realizing he was being rather silly to be this awkward. He'd known Penelope for a very long time now. He knew her as well as she knew him. "Of course I trust you." He offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright. Now," she said, tilting his head a little with her hand, "hold still."

He did as she asked, and a few minutes later, she had stopped and he cracked his eyes open. "Here, have a look," Penelope said, holding up a mirror for him.

"Oh, wow!" he murmured, surprised by his own reflection. She'd only tackled one so far, but wow. She'd been careful to only use the pencil enough to hide some of the patchiness, but what a difference it made. No replacement for hair, but it would definitely lessen the uncomfortable, curious stares for a few weeks.

"How did you do that?" Virgil asked, hoping she might share what she'd done.

"I'd be more than happy to show you."

A tutorial and a cup of tea later, Virgil returned home with the gifted pencil, which he promptly hid in the jar of pencils that sat on his desk. Oh, his younger brothers had definitely had noticed the change, but he left them to wonder and suffer under the belief the subject was still taboo. On the other hand, Virgil strongly suspected Scott knew more about his day at Creighton-Ward Manor than he was letting on. Scott also, however, remained silent and Virgil was happy to leave it at that.

Over a month later, he'd officially retired the pencil, as finally his eyebrows had finished growing back. Hopefully he'd never need it again, he thought wryly as he sheepishly admitted his eyebrow mishap to the firefighting team he was helping.

Yeah, if the spire was looking anything like the poor barbecue had, the situation was definitely bad.

'Sorry again about that, Dad, by the way,' he thought silently as they prepared to head up the elevator shaft.

He really did need to get around to actually fixing that barbecue.


End file.
